He was a jolly good fellow. He’d been a great help to my father with practising English.  Dad had an enormous English vocabulary. He could translate unseen texts into German on the spot. However he had little experience of speaking or hearing the English language. So Philips, kindly,came twice a week to give him conversation practice.

And now, to my great surprise, there sat Philips two rows in front of me in this London theatre.

I waited for the interval before rushing up to him to embrace him.But the man looked puzzled. “Excuse me, sir, but I don’t think we have met.”

“But  … aren’t you Mister Philips?”

“Philips is my name, yes.  But I suspect the Philips, you know, is my brother. We’ve often been mistaken, the one for the other. We’re identical twins but …” he laughed, “different characters. Very different. He’s a missionary and a pacifist.  I work for the War department … on armour plating. I’m a metallurgist.”

We had a drink together then parted, laughing. His wife, too, seemed to find the encounter amusing.  She told me she hoped, one day, to meet her husband’s double.

“And I do hope,” added Philips-the-metallurgist, “she’ll be able to identify which one of us two she’s committed  to … in holy matrimony.”

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